Dancing With Death in Her Heart
by sugarkid
Summary: Milah was not the first girl to catch his eye... (Hook/Ariel)
1. Chapter 1

Killian Jones had sailed the seas for long enough to know that certain things went without saying. It was important to keep the balance of the ship's food stores just right, for although the crew could not survive on ship's biscuits alone, it was a terrible idea to overload the ship with food that would spoil too easily. Likewise, it went without saying that no one should ever make comments about the weather that might tempt fate to intervene, such as 'well it _looks_ fine' or 'don't be daft, that storm won't hit us!'. Anyone who had sailed for as long as he had _knew_ that the ocean was a greedy devil woman, constantly looking for excuses to claim suitors and saying out loud that she wouldn't, that she looked too gentle, was as good as picking out gravestones for the whole crew.

One other thing that went without saying was that it was terrible bad luck to bring a woman aboard. That one was more superstition than anything else, since Killian had never actually been told the reason why during all of his years on the ocean. He had never thought too much about it, since he had plenty of opportunities to visit women in inns and whorehouses whenever he docked the ship and had never been of a mind to take one of them on a guided tour, much less out on the open sea.

Of course, rules were made to be broken and even the things that went without saying had to be brought into question eventually, something that finally happened on the night that later became known as the Night of the Grand Typhoon. The crew had been sailing for many days with empty bellies and the only thing left in the stores was rum, meaning that if ever anyone talked about their own version of events, there was always a lot of plot holes. Even Killian himself couldn't remember the circumstances of the prostitute, but he remembered that there had definitely been one on the ship at the time, for it was she that drank the most rum and made the comment that the sky was so blue and the sea so peaceful.

They broke all three of the most basic seafarer's rules that day and, as the typhoon crept in and Killian found himself searching for rope to tie himself to the mast, he wondered why he was even surprised. The last thing he remembered was a wave of chilling water hitting him and the screams of the prostitute that she couldn't swim.

When he woke up he was on a warm beach, with the waves lapping at his toes and for a moment he wondered if he had died and gone to the Locker. He brushed sand off his face and attempted to take in his surroundings.

The first thing he noticed was how bright the sunshine was on his face. The second was that he was not entirely alone. Somebody was sitting beside him, and the second he looked up into their face they began to sing.

She had such red hair, redder than any sunset he had ever seen during his short life and her _voice_. He had never heard anyone sing so beautifully before. He could not quite register the words, but he was quite sure that she was some sort of angel, despite the very obvious fact that he had hardly lived a good Christian life and was far from worthy of such a gesture.

The second she stopped singing he willed her to carry on, and when she turned away from him to look at something on the other side of the beach he almost felt jealous. Within moments she was gone and his First Mate, Jenkinson, was dragging him to his feet.

"Cap'n!" he was saying. "Cap'n, yer alive!"

"I…" Killian struggled to balance on his feet and used the other man's thick shoulder for balance. "Wait…this isn't the Locker?"

"Not s'far s'I'm aware, Cap'n. The ship's on the other side o'the island, with," he paused and glanced at his shoes, "wi'the bodies, sir. Put it bluntly, sir, we was all thinking you was dead. The mast washed up a couple hours ago on the other side of the island. It's a bloody miracle!"

Ordinarily, Killian knew he would have responded with a joke. Right then, however, he was unable to think of anything but the strange redheaded girl and he stared out at the ocean, wondering if she would appear out of the waves if he watched for long enough.

"Uh…Cappin?"

He blinked.

"Yes, Jenkinson?"

"You going to be alright?"

Jenkinson was big, fat and, for the most part, completely stupid. Killian chose him as First Mate thanks to his utter conviction that the man was too inane to consider mutiny. If Jenkinson was suspicious that all was not right with him, then it occurred to Killian he should probably do a better job of hiding it.

He laughed out loud and slapped the other man on the shoulder with such force that any ordinary man would have been sent reeling. Jenkinson, however, barely even flinched.

"Why, my good man! This has been my first near death experience," said Killian proudly. "And I didn't even lose a limb! I ought to be ashamed of myself!"

* * *

Killian and his crew camped on the island for three weeks, nourishing themselves on whatever they could find. The ship had been badly damaged on the rocks surrounding the shore and it was somewhat satisfying using surrounding materials to put it back together. It would never be the same ship, he knew, but it would sail again.

Killian had set sail with around forty men and after the storm he was reduced to just sixteen. Many died of grievous injuries after crash landing onto the island, while others had died of far more everyday causes for their sort, such as devouring poisonous fruit. Killian could not help but notice that his surviving crewmembers had all been injured in some way, whether it was just a small cut or an outright broken bone, while he had escaped without a scratch. It was almost as if he had escaped the peril completely.

The night before they meant to set sail again, Killian finished off the last of the rum and attempted the long walk to his cabin for bed. He hobbled across the upper deck, trying to appear completely sober, but utterly failing and walking with such a swaying gait that it appeared the ship was on a heavy tide. Had he been sober he would have noticed the watery footprints on the wooden boards of his ship, prints that had not been there only moments ago and were far too small to belong to any of his crew.

He reached his cabin door and triumphantly reached for the handle, turning to glance out at the ocean once last time before retiring for bed. It had become something of a habit, ever since he had first stepped on the boat and smelled the sea air.

Only then did he see her standing by the masthead, the moonlight shining in her bright red hair. She was dripping wet from head to foot and wearing the dead prostitute's dress, which seemed to be about three or four sizes too big for her.

Killian Jones knew of the stigma attached to having women aboard ships, yet still he took one clumsy step forward and entwined his fingers in her cold, wet ones.

She opened her mouth as if to greet him.

There was no sound.


	2. Chapter 2

"Breezy!"

"You moron, what kind of idiot names their kid Breezy?!"

"_You_ was the one who suggested Blowy!"

Killian had been so certain when he accepted the girl onto his ship that it was the best idea he had ever had. He had been so fixated on the memory of her beautiful voice that he hadn't wondered why she was soaked to the bone, or even why she no longer seemed to be able to speak. The longer he spent with her, though, the more obvious it seemed that she was a little… _odd_.

That's not to say that Killian was not used to strange people. No, one of the first captains he had ever served under had a penchant for drinking water from cacti and wore weights in his boots, for he was quite convinced that he would fall into the sky otherwise. Despite the man's differences, he was still reassuringly normal when it came down to the most important things, which unfortunately could not be said for the girl.

That first night she appeared on his ship he took her down to the ship's mess hall, thinking that a full belly might loosen her lips. She seemed delighted by the place, immediately investigating every corner of the room from top to bottom – tapping the stained portraits on the walls and looking disappointed when they didn't respond, stroking her fingertips along the wood of the table and stepping closer to the fireplace, which was practically burnt out. She reached out her hand to touch that, too, only to silently retract it the second the flames made contact with her skin. She turned to him then, cradling her burned hand as if to ask why it had hurt her.

Killian motioned for her to sit at the table and massaged his temples, wondering how drunk he actually was as she grabbed hold of one of the forks with a look of utmost delight across her face and proceeded to comb her hair with it. When she realised that he was watching her, she lowered the fork back onto the table and clasped her hands together in her lap, looking quite embarrassed. He found himself wondering if that absolute conviction that she had saved his life was just an illusion.

What few men remained at the table had fallen asleep, some with their faces buried in whatever they had been eating, and while Killian rooted through the storeroom to find a ship's biscuit or dried fish, he glanced round the corner to see the girl leaning over and watching the rise and fall of her neighbour's chest, just to jump to her feet and hide behind Killian when the man suddenly began to snore quite loudly. She stared from Killian to the snoring man with wide, frightened eyes and Killian patted her on the head, lifting a dried fish from one of the barrels to pacify her.

Except it didn't pacify her at all and instead the girl went from frightened to absolutely horrified. She backed into the wall as if he had advanced upon her with a knife and Killian stared from her to the fish, utterly bewildered. He wondered if perhaps she had never seen a fish before.

"Don't worry," he said, flaking bits of flesh from the bone and showing her how to eat it. "It's good, look."

As if in response, the girl threw up on his shoes.

She had no love for the mess hall after that and did not eat with the men during the voyage. After exploring the ship a little more, she discovered the crow's nest and silently declared that she loved it, smiling broadly as the wind whipped through her hair. She was up there when Killian finally retired to bed, her hair so red in the morning sun that it looked as if her head was on fire.

He did not know her story, for she was not exactly forthcoming with information and instead spent most of her time up there, observing the open sea. In all of that time she never once spoke, sometimes moving her lips as if to form the words, though never going so far as to make a sound. The crew were somewhat fascinated by her in the same way they would have been if he had brought a tiger aboard, arguing between themselves over who got to take the ship's biscuit to her and boasting over whether or not she had smiled when they returned.

They did not have a name for her, so instead they jokingly referred to her as 'the Cap'n's bird'o'paradise', which was quickly shortened to 'the Cap'n's bird'. Killian would have protested the point, but when he thought of the way she divided her time between feeding biscuit crumbs to gulls in the crow's nest, showering everyone below with a mixture of gull feathers and bird shit and leaning over his shoulder with a curious expression on her face to see whatever he was doing, he could not help but feel that things were no different to if he had bought a parrot at a bazaar.

The idea of her saving his life was ludicrous. She was too small to lift his weight above ground, much less under the water where everyone weighed heavier, and within a matter of days her legs were covered in bruises from the numerous occasions where she had bumped into things on her travels around the ship. Not a day went by that she did not slam into something or trip over her own feet or fall from the mast, leaving the ship's doctor to sigh, roll his eyes and patch her up. If he was completely honest with himself, Killian knew the reason he was so convinced that she could not have saved his life was that when he looked at her all he saw was a child– the sort that was ten a penny on the street of any given town.

She never once opened her mouth to speak her name, nor her story and Killian wondered if she even knew how. It would not be the first time that he had encountered a feral child wandering a desert island after losing its parents to one terrible storm or another. The way she held her head and smiled, however, was almost regal, which he had to say was a first. Most urchins he met were biters and worse.

"I've got it! WINDY!" shouted the next shipmate, causing a ripple of laughter amongst all involved.

Some of his men had coaxed her down from the crow's nest with the promise of a biscuit and they took turns at trying to guess her name. She seemed to enjoy the game and, when prompted for clues, would inhale and puff out her cheeks only to blow in the faces of all who watched, as if the act was somehow significant to her name.

She shook her head at the mention of 'Windy', which caused his men to think for a moment and then shout 'WENDY' in unison, causing her to fall back off the barrel she had been perched on.

"See that? That must be it!"

"Yeah, Wendy bird, Wendy bird!"

Killian sighed at the disgruntled expression on the girl's face as she climbed to her feet. Her name, he presumed, was _not_ 'Wendy Bird' but she did not have the means to tell them otherwise. Instead she watched, shaking her head on occasion as they congratulated one another on their genius.

The longer she spent on his ship, surrounded by his crew, the more obvious it became that she was not made for the ocean in any way, shape or form. She could not spend the rest of her days in the crow's nest, for that rendered it useless and she was so clumsy that any attempt at teaching her basic swordplay or fighting could probably be considered dangerous. Keeping her on the ship was about as fruitful as keeping a mouser that was utterly incapable of hunting. It was an easy enough conclusion to reach and yet somehow he felt terrible for coming to it.

Ordinarily he would have just marooned any member of his crew that did not pull their weight and replaced them the second he arrived at port, but the girl did not technically belong to his crew, so Killian told himself the same rules did not apply. That, however, made things rather more complicated. If she did not belong to his crew then was he even obligated to take care of her at all? Ordinarily he sold captives to slavers for their worth in gold, but the girl could hardly be classed as a captive, considering she walked freely amongst his men. Killian told himself that he would make the decision when he and his crew arrived at port, though in the end, that proved to be just another thing that he was wrong about.

The seas had been calm for most of their journey, with not so much as a ripple out of place. It made a nice change of pace from the typhoon that had cost Killian more than half his men and, though he never admitted to it when retelling the story later on, he rested easy. One such evening, he was rudely awakened by the strange girl, who all but dragged him out of bed and seemed to be in something of a panic.

"What…" He said, thinking he was dreaming to begin with, only to realise he wasn't when she dragged him straight out of bed by his ankles.

"What are you doing?" he protested, reaching for his bedpost first and then the door frame, missing them both entirely and cursing as she dragged him down the short flight of stairs to the deck, banging his head on each as he went. He wasn't sure why he even bothered asking the girl what was happening, considering her muteness, yet when she finally let him go his first instinct was still to spit out the blood that had filled his mouth and ask her what the hell was going on. He used the hull as a guide to help himself to his feet, only to see the girl frantically pointing at the sky.

Anyone would have thought she had seen something horrifying, but the skies were clear, with barely a cloud to be seen for miles. Killian sighed and rested a hand on his throbbing head.

"It's a beautiful night," he said. "You should get some sleep."

Unsurprisingly, the girl did not say a thing, though she did look disappointed by his reaction. She pointed to the sky again and gestured the sea with her hands. Killian glanced at the dark waters, which gently lapped the sides of the boat and then turned back to the girl, who was watching him hopefully. He sighed and walked off in the other direction, rubbing his fingers along his swollen lips and cursing the girl's inanity. She did not follow, which he took for a blessing until he reached for the handle to his cabin door and the ship suddenly took a sharp turn to the left. Killian watched in horror as barrels of cargo rolled over the side of the ship and his men filed out onto the top deck to see what on earth was happening. They all but froze when they saw their Wendy bird at the helm, putting all of her weight behind the wheel.

Killian ran to her and tried to prise her fingers away from the wood, yet he appeared to have underestimated her strength, for the more he tried to drag her away the stronger she seemed to become.

"What are you doing?!" he yelled. "You're going to kill us all."

Part of him wondered if that had been her intention all along and her innocence had all been an act. It took a handful of men to drag her away from the wheel, by which point the ship was completely rerouted. It would take several days to get back on course and many vital provisions had been lost in the commotion. The girl appeared to have returned to her usual self, climbing up to the crow's nest the second she realised everyone was angry with her, but it was too late for any sort of forgiveness. Killian was too battered and bruised and exhausted from the typhoon that had started the entire mess to pass off the entire thing as a bit of mischief, as he perhaps might have done in the past. There was only one thing he could feasibly do in such a situation.

The girl's eyes were wide as they made port, though she could not hide her nervousness, for no matter how many barrels she dipped her head into or what treasures she smoothed her fingers over she always made a point to keep him in sight. The market place captivated her attentions in ways he had never seen before and she watched, wide eyed, as he sold the meagre few pieces of cargo they had left from the voyage. Despite the danger of the voyage, his coin purse was practically empty and most of that was going on full repairs for the ship. He still needed coin for provisions if he was to set sail any time soon and that would come at price.

If the market place had captured the girl's attentions, then that was nothing to the way she reacted upon seeing the silks of the brothel. She seemed to like the way they felt and their bright colours, for she trailed her fingers along the fabric with a look of delight upon her face, an expression only matched by that of the fat woman who owned the premises.

"You say she does not talk?" she said, stroking her fingers through the girl's shining hair.

"Not a word," said Killian. "Though she's quite well behaved, as you can see."

"Indeed."

The Mistress hooked a single finger under the girl's chin and lifted her face.

"Does she have a name?" she asked, turning her head one way and then the other, which the girl did not seem to enjoy.

"We don't know if she had a name before we found her," said Killian, watching as the girl squirmed out of the Mistress' grasp and carried on admiring the luscious silks before her. "But my crew have been calling her Wendy."

The Mistress shook her head.

"That will not do."

She tossed him a bag of gold and he knew he was dismissed. The second he turned to leave, the girl stood up to follow and he placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Now, little bird," he said, making up the pet name on the spot. "I'm going to leave you here for a while with this kind woman. I'll come back for you before sundown, but you must promise to be good!"

It was all a lie, of course. He had no intention of going back and if the rumours were correct, then the Mistress of the place was far from kind. The girl seemed to believe him, though, for she placed her hand over the one he had placed on her shoulder and squeezed it, an expression of gratitude on her face that made Killian wonder if she thought he was leaving her there to admire the silks.

After leaving the place, he retired to the small tavern situated just across from the docks. It was usually a noisy place, filled with boisterous pirates feeling smug about their latest adventure and a fight or two, but that day it was practically empty. Killian took a seat and used one of the coins the mute girl had gotten him on a drink, trying to erase the mental image of her hopeful smile by focussing on the bottom of his glass instead.

She had tried to kill them all, he told himself, and at least in the brothel she would be warm at night.

He was not sure how long he sat in the tavern, or how many drinks he got through, only that the owner of the place seemed to take an interest in his activities.

"Rough journey?" he asked, taking Killian's empty glasses and mopping them with a dirty cloth.

Killian rubbed his temples.

"You could say that," he said. "I lost over half my men in a typhoon a few weeks ago."

The tavern owner appeared quite confused, as if that answer was far from what he expected.

"Lucky you missed the storm, then," he said, setting the glass he had been wiping back on the table and smiling broadly. "If you had been here a few days earlier then you'd almost certainly have lost them all."

Killian propped his head up and stared the man in the face.

"What storm? What are you talking about? The seas have been naught but calm."

The tavern keeper sighed and took a seat next to him.

"Nobody could have predicted it," he said. "It happened so fast! One moment the skies were blue and the next…well…"

He motioned to all of the empty seats around them and a cold chill crept up Killian's spine, not simply because of the thought of all of those dead pirates, but because somebody _had_ predicted it and he had sold her for a pocketful of gold.

He all but leapt from his seat and threw open the tavern door.

It was well past sundown, but perhaps he still had time.


End file.
